


Glass is Strong (When You Need it to Be)

by Starchild (DouxAnge)



Series: Bats According to Stars [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alfred is a saint, Damian is a good big brother, Eternally bad at tags, Jason is a good brother, Jason is trying, No Beta, Tags Are Hard, The Drakes are bad people, Tim needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DouxAnge/pseuds/Starchild
Summary: Bruce is throwing a gala for Tim.Tim is having a hard time, Jason and Damian are there to help.
Series: Bats According to Stars [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173989
Kudos: 2





	Glass is Strong (When You Need it to Be)

**Author's Note:**

> TW: there is a brief flashback to the Drakes being Bad Parents. I left it fairly vague, but if you need to skip that part don't read between the asterisks. Also Jason swears.

The shouting match in the next room over is distracting, but I’ve been to enough galas to block out everything but the space immediately around me. Mother always complimented me on my ability to do just that. If she taught me only one thing, it was how to conduct a room like an orchestra. Straightening my tie for the millionth time, I give my reflection the thousand-watt smile I’ve perfected specifically for galas. 

Damian enters my bubble of awareness, and my eyes flick up to his reflection in the mirror. His hair is slicked back off his face, which is smooth and perfect except for his left cheek. Sloppily done make-up is dusted over what appears to be a nasty bruise. Other than that, he looks ready for any socialite event ever with a crisp tux and a necktie that matches his eyes perfectly. I turn to face him, and the scowl over his features deepens slightly. 

“Do you need help with that?” I ask, vaguely gesturing to his face. The older boy turns away slightly, glaring at the floor. “I’ll take that as a yes. Have a seat, and let me go get my stuff.” 

Bathroom cabinet. Make-up crate. Foundation bag, setting spray, blending sponges. Just for fun, I add a neutral eye shadow set and some clear lip gloss to the pile. By the time I walk back into my bedroom, Damian is sitting backwards in my desk chair. I move to stand in front of him, moving the lamp on my desk off-center so I can sit. The top drawer has makeup removing wipes in it, so I grab those before getting to work cleaning my now-brother’s face. He hisses a few times, but doesn’t pull away. 

The bruises aren’t as bad as they could be, but that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. If anyone tonight notices them, the tabloids will have a field day. The process of covering the bruises takes longer than it usually does, due to the fact that nothing I own matches Damian’s darker skin tone. I set the brush down on the desk next to me, smiling apologetically at the older boy. 

“I don’t own anything that matches, but I did my best.” He hums, pulling up the camera on his phone and inspecting my work. He’s silent for several seconds before slipping the device back in his pocket and nodding at me.

“Thank you for the assistance, Drake.” He tenses immediately, staring at me with wide eyes.

Oh. He thinks I’ll be upset.

“Don’t worry about it, Demon. After all I’m not a real Wayne,” I say, smiling at him. Something dark settles in his eyes, and it sets every fiber of my being on edge. 

“Quit saying that, Timothy. You are just as much a Wayne as I. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” My gaze drops to the floor between us, not wanting to look at the older boy. After several seconds of silence, he tuts and stands up. “Thank you for the assist, but I have to go check up with Father.”

My head stays down until well after his footsteps lapse into silence. I gather up all the make-up things and tuck them into a drawer, deciding to put them away properly later. Standing once again in front of my mirror, I curse under my breath when I spot the smudge of eye shadow on the sleeve of my jacket. Careful to not make it worse, I gently run a wipe over the spot. 

Mom’s voice rings out in my mind, scolding me for being so careless in the first place. 

************

_“Timothy, how many times do I have to tell you to stop being so careless?” Mom scolds, furiously pacing around the living room. She has the grace of a queen, but if a tornado was wearing it like a cloak. Dad is standing in the doorway, swirling a glass of bourbon as he watches with disinterest._

_“I’m sorry, Mother. I should have been paying attention to my surroundings,” I mumble, staring intently at the floor. My mother scoffs, coming to a halt in front of me._

_“Look at the person you’re addressing, Timothy. How is it that you can’t even accomplish a simple task like that?” Slowly, I peel my eyes from the floorboards to Mother’s face. She’s practically frothing at the mouth. Uh oh._

_“I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing it’s too little too late, but hoping nonetheless. The best I can do is tuck my face into my shoulder._

************

“What are you doing? It’s not like I’m going to fucking hit you!” Jason growls, and with a start I open my eyes to look at him. Despite the harshness of his tone, I can see the worry clear on his face. “The hell are you crying for, Timmers?” 

The only response I can give him is a pathetic whimper, to which he responds by sighing and tugging me into his shoulder. There will never be a day when I’m not thankful for the scrappy street kid Bruce decided to take in. I pull away after a few seconds, smiling softly at Jason. The twelve year old just huffs slightly, turning on his heel and marching towards the door.

“Playboy needs you downstairs in five,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Closing my eyes, I take a few centering breaths before smiling at my reflection one last time and exiting my bedroom. One of the vase stands is kicked over between my room and the staircase, broken fragments littering the floor. Just another casualty in the ongoing war between Damian and Jason. By my count, the death toll is in the thirties by now. All those poor vases. I take a moment of silence before continuing on down the hallway.

Bruce, Damian, Jason, and Alfred are all gathered in the foyer, right at the base of the stairs. They’re whispering amongst themselves, Jason swinging his hands around while he talks. Damian’s eyes flick up to meet mine, and he shushes everyone immediately. Alfred glances up at me, a soft smile on his face. 

Taking a breath, I draw myself up to my full height and glide down the stairs. Bruce, despite his efforts, can’t seem to keep the soft look off his face. Alfred clears his throat, and everyone jolts into a flurry of movement. Damian follows Bruce towards the ballroom while Jay and Alfred duck into the kitchen, leaving me standing confused at the bottom of the stairs. After a few seconds, Damian pokes his head through the door and looks expectantly at me. I make my way towards him.

“I need you to look over the playlist for tonight, Tim. I think it looks okay, but you should have the final say,” Bruce calls from the computer set up in one corner of the room. The entire space is decorated like a Valentine’s party and a professional photography expo had a secret love child, with pink and red decorations hanging side-by-side with photo boards all around the room. 

One picture in particular catches my attention, and I step closer to get a better look at it. The subject is Damian, wedged onto the window sill of his art studio, sketchbook and pencil in hand. The window and screen are thrown open, giving an unfiltered worm’s-eye view of him. A few falling leaves flutter across the frame, just below where Damian is sitting. 

“This is one of my photos,” I say, surprised and slightly unnerved. I never showed anyone that particular photo.

“Every picture up tonight is one of yours,” Bruce states, gaze sweeping the room. An emotion I can’t place is radiating off of him in waves, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He turns to look at me, and I give an awkward smile before continuing on towards the music station. Demon brushes past me, casually slipping something into my pocket as he does. 

“I should see if Alfred and Streetrat need any help,” he states before gliding out into the hall. I watch after him for a second before stepping up and looking over the list of songs for the gala.

As I scroll through the playlist, I nonchalantly pull my phone, and the note, out of my pocket and glance at them. There’s a text from Demon waiting for me. Just a smiley face, but it makes me happy nonetheless. The note is simply a few words of encouragement, telling me that the Waynes are my family now.


End file.
